SECTION THIRTEEN
POETRY PAGE SIX


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COLUMN FIFTY-TWO, OCTOBER 1, 2000
(Copyright 2000 Al Aronowitz)

SPORTS

 

I don't watch sports
but there is a poetry
to baseball and prizefights
but if I did
Muhammed Ali
would be my idol
he's the real poet
up against the ropes
you can't help but
want him
to knock out the
sucker that thought he
could win
up against the greatest
fighter of all time
poor fool
you have my sympathy
and my condolences
but not my respect
and the Knicks might
be playing tonight
and Spike Lee will
probably be watching
and Spike you are
nearly as cool as Miles Davis
and have everything to
say, more than I do
anyway
but
life is the real fight
I'm fighting to make
it through another day
I'm up against the
cops, the politicians, and
most of all Jesse Helms
that poor fat stupid
redneck bastard
take that
round two
ding  ##
 

* * *

LONG LIVE THE WIMP

 

"The presumed particles would weigh at least 50 times
as much as a
proton and would almost always pass through other
matter without a
trace..."  

a weakly interactive
massive particle
say on the scale of
Robert Lowell or
an Allen Ginsberg
causes me to say
(watch me there
saying it, I look silly
like a grandiose piece
of cheese)
let's stick to poetry
where the wimps roam free
let the physicists do
the imagining
particles of wimps
are floating by
schools of them you
might as well say
like fish would be
a good analogy
if you were a poet
but the physicists
would never know it
they're too busy
putting a piece of
glass up to their eye
and sponging up
the funding.
here comes one now
a wimp is coming
move over
I've been discovered
we're everywhere
curl up with your favorite
poet tonight
turns out we're the
cause of
everything...  ## 

* * *

THE SOUND OF YOUR VOICE IS THE BELL

Clear in the moonlight, each moment down

the throat like whiskey and all he knew was

to roll with the punches like the title fight

had taken on the meaning of his life

and the sound of the cars rushing past

beneath the late night window and the last

cigarette against his lips as if it were

his lips touching hers, coming to, hearing

the bell, it was all over, again and again

caught in the ropes like an insect frying

against the light of her life.  ##  

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